


boundaries.

by VONR4UM (orphan_account)



Category: Dayshift At Freddy's, Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: Autism, Autism Spectrum, Autistic dave miller, Fluff and Angst, HAHA GAY, I am autistic, Kissing, M/M, Memories, Social Issues, Stimming, Touching, autistic jack kennedy, dave never learned social boundaries, hello lucario!, henry is such a bitch, jack doesnt like being touched, sensory issues, what crimes will they commit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:47:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26002141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/VONR4UM
Summary: 'William had never learned social boundaries.'Inspired by Close Contact (chapter 23) from Lucario's Fnaf One-Shots for lovely people.Not beta'd, edited, or looked over. I am tired. Don't bully me.
Relationships: Jack Kennedy/Dave Miller (Dayshift at Freddy's)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 90





	boundaries.

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Fnaf One-Shots for lovely people](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18023240) by [Lucario](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucario/pseuds/Lucario). 



William had never learned social boundaries. As a child growing up in England, he was brought up to be polite and immaculate in every situation - that is, while he was in school. At school he’d learn his phonics, and from there more complicated words; he learned manners and where to use them, learned exactly what he should say in a situation where words might fail. Well, as much as a six year old could learn.

At home was an entirely different story.

_ “Daddy,”  _ He’d cry,  _ “The boys at school were being mean to me!” _

His father’s response was always the same:  _ “Clobber ‘em over the ‘ead!”  _

And he did. That was the start of something changing within him.

As a younger child, he felt no sympathy. He took pride in being able to watch ‘sad’ movies and not cry like the other children did, took pride in being able to sit and watch motor accidents and feel absolutely  _ nothing;  _ he only learned that bragging about it to others was a bad thing when he turned 9. 

His teachers told him it was wrong. His father told him feeling no emotion is the route to a strong, fulfilling man’s life. His father told him he shouldn’t cry, he shouldn’t show weakness; when he bleeds he should just suck it up and when he panics he should just  _ get on with it.  _ It was a cycle, at this point - the school would tell him about his behaviour, and his father would counteract their statements.

Maybe, in some regards, he  _ had  _ learned boundaries. Boundaries that were one by one stripped away from him by the man he was taught to look up to the most. He didn’t remember much of his mother.

Henry was an entirely different story. When William had met the man, his life was in a pretty rough period. He had met Henry when he was a teenager, his parents having just kicked him out - for a while, it seemed like everything would be okay for him. This was until the murders happened.

Reflecting on this part of his life always made him feel cheery in a weird way he couldn’t describe. It was a time when his bond with Henry was at its height, when everything felt relatively stable, yet something was always off; there was always a deep feeling of dread in him with each murder. He and Henry had been partners and close friends.

So close that one day William slipped up. He’d never really had a constant parental figure in his life, even his father was further away mentally for his liking - he knew he shouldn’t complain, he still had his father at one point to help guide him in life, and his mother was there once, though he couldn’t remember it very clearly. He shouldn’t complain.

But one day he fucked up. 

He had been with Henry, and his hands were rapping together hard, inner knuckle against his other hand’s palm, something he’d been doing for a solid five minutes straight. He was smiling happily as he watched Henry do paperwork for one of their many owned restaurants, the other man glancing in his general direction every now and then to make sure he hadn’t wondered off or done something  _ terribly  _ stupid. And he hadn’t.

He was just sat there, smiling, hands bashing together in a rhythm that seemed to soothe him - a noise resounded from the movement, a muffled knocking sound each time he pressed his hands together. It was soothing, to William, as he sat, waiting for Henry to be done with his paperwork.

To Henry, it was annoying. He’d wanted to say something for a while, but managed to stop himself each time, but then the sound got louder, and William was doing it more rapidly than before, and as he gripped his desk in annoyance, his knuckles turned white from pressure. He pushed his glasses up his nose ever so slightly and turned his gaze to the man sat beside him, “William, can you  _ stop  _ doing that. It’s frankly fucking irritating and I’m trying to focus.”

What he hadn’t expected was for William to look at him in confusion, before ceasing movement altogether, “Sorry, dad.”

And then he left the room, leaving the larger man to resume his paperwork with those two words repeating in his mind. 

-

Jack didn’t like being touched. He wasn’t sure where it was rooted from, where his fear of physical contact formed, but all he knew is that he couldn’t stand another person touching him. Ever since he was a child, he’d never let anyone hug him, not even his parents or family members. He’d never allow his girlfriend at the time to hold his hand, wouldn’t want to hug her - or any of his friends for that matter.

He’d been taught to shake hands. At weddings, he was always coerced into shaking family member’s hands as they all reconvened, but hated it every single time. He couldn’t place why but the feeling of other people’s skin on his made his own skin crawl in disgust and he always instantly wanted to recoil, go back to a safer area where he didn’t have to make contact with  _ anyone _ \- due to this, he also preferred being alone.

He didn’t understand how others could hug one another and not instantly want to hide away.

He didn’t understand why Dave had a constant need to stand near him. He was always  _ so  _ close, so close that Jack could feel his breath on his skin, could practically hear his heartbeat when they got  _ too  _ close; he understood, however, the reason Dave’s face burned when they did, the way he shied away when the orange man would send a wink his way from across the room. He knew the reasons for this. He could easily place that and that fact made him comfortable.

The aubergine man was always strange to Jack. 

They’d talked about hugging before. 

“Sportsy, y’know, I- d’ya think I’m disgusting?” The question almost came out quite like a statement, though Dave’s raised eyebrow said something completely different; the orange man was so confused that he sat silent for almost an entire minute before he was able to speak without fumbling over words.

“Dave- what? No, of course not,” He blinked hard as confusion still sat fresh in his mind, and though he didn’t mean to sigh, he did, and before he realised what it sounded like, Dave was bashing his hands together once again. 

“I’m sorry, Old Sport, I just- you never want to touch me and I don’t know why and I just wanted to ask,” He spoke fast and almost panicked, “Sorry,” He said, this time quieter.

Once again, Jack sat in silence. The only noise that filled the room was the dull knocking of Dave’s hands, but it was something to focus on, which kept him calm. What was  _ happening?  _ He knew the aubergine man craved affection and touch above literally all else, but did it have to be from him? Had it really affected him this much? He realised his sigh sounded annoyed, something akin to angry, which in turn probably led Dave to believe he was mad at him.

_ Which would explain a lot. _

Overwhelming touches made him want to tear his skin off, but maybe he could try. For Dave. For science. Only for a short amount of time.

He reached a hand out and laced his fingers with the aubergine-coloured man’s, his face burning hot as he attempted to give a squeeze of affection - he found it wasn’t the worst sensation in the world; maybe small touches like this weren’t that bad. Growing up helped the orange man realise that not  _ all  _ touching was bad, and that maybe he was just more sensitive as a child, because  _ this -  _ this was okay.

A couple seconds passed before Jack pulled his hand back, “Dave, I’m not mad at you. I want to touch you,” He didn’t miss the red on Dave’s cheeks, “But it’s hard. I can, but not for long and not with certain parts of me because I just - can’t.”

“Sportsy, I don’t mind, you don’t even have to touch me at all, and that’s fine! I just need to know, though,” He moved closer but didn’t make an attempt to touch the shorter man in any way, “Are ya autistic? Is that what they’re callin’ it?”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s why.”

“Well- me too. Me too.”

“Oh. That would explain a lot.”

_ Maybe kissing wouldn’t be too hard, maybe he’d get the hang of it.  _ Either way, he knew Dave didn’t mind, didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. He wanted this. 

Their lips connected for only a few seconds, and Jack loved  _ every second of it. _


End file.
